Furnishing my Future Palace

I had no real intention on purchasing and lugging around beautiful large-scale handmade rugs. Being a migrant with no real home makes it difficult to buy home furnishings. I'm loathe to buy as much as a tea pot without having to seriously consider the consequences of having to pack it up and ship it eventually. But alas, I am a sucker for beautiful artwork.

There were lots of places in Marrakech that had rugs, and Fes had its fair share as well. One place in particular caught my eye- Coin Berbère. The shop, a bit more enclosed than the rest, was filled with treasures. Amazing things. Antique things. Pottery and Jewelry and carved panels and weavings. I would have gladly paid admission just to look...it was a treasure trove. Not too many souk stands get a nice write up in the New York Times either.

The owner, Mohammed (oh, everyone other guy we met shared the name) motioned for us to follow across the street and up a narrow staircase. There, a room, bursting with color.

I knew this was the man I would be buying carpets from. It's just narrowing them down that's the problem.

We talked dyes, we talked tribes, we talked spinning, we talked sheep. Each Berber tribe has their own distinctive style and pattern and palate. Indigo, saffron, flowers, cochineal, roots, and henna are all used to make the amazing colors. Everything is handspun, hand woven, by Berber women, working for a pittance, with the skills passed on through the generations. It is much more than a mere floor covering.

Mohammed patiently pulled out the ones that fit the criteria. Not too huge, not small. Nothing with sparkles or too much knotting. No silk. No pressure.

I loved this embroidered one.

But they were all amazing, one-of-a-kind works of art.

Some of them reminded me of Gee's Bend quilts.

Mohammed had the habit of unfurling the rug dramatically, while simultaneously hushing everyone in the room.

I kind of fell for this slightly shabby antique:

But the more intricate ones called to me as well.

This one he called the "Berber Picasso":

It was enormous, but I wanted it. He says it sells for $40,000 at ABC Carpet in New York. Having shopped for rugs there, I believe it.

The idea of buying a house and decorating completely with furnishings and rugs from this store started playing out in my mind.

But remember, no pressure. He said, "Think about it. Discuss it. Come back when you are ready." Which no one else in Morocco has ever said, ever.

And come back we did. After browsing more rugs around town, I could honestly said he had the best of the best, and he had handpicked the finest out there. And we brought friends with us as well. And the friends also had no intention to buy, yet they went home with three of them.

I showed Mohammed the pictures I had taken of the ones we liked best. He pulled them out of the piles, put them on the floor, and sent his brother to fetch some mint tea.

I found out I was terrible at haggling. It was just too much pressure. Plus, the price he was asking, I thought it was more than fair for the amount of work that went into it. So count me out when it comes to negotiating something handmade.

"Close your eyes, open your heart, and take this rug home with you" Mohammed commanded.

Several cups of tea and bathroom breaks later, I went home with the above carpet. It's amazing. Now that it's home, I'm even more in love with it. It's my colors, all wool- natural grays and browns and mauves that were dyed with poppies and then left out in the sun to age and fade.

This one was purchased as well. It's much larger than the mauve one, with a sturdier cotton warp and it's mind blowing to have this currently in my apartment:

The colors...the patterns...

Our friend went home with the "brother" of the colorful one. It's the same pattern, but more negative space.

Which, if I wasn't so afraid of spilling wine, I would have grabbed that one too.

Everyone went home happy. Mohammed rolled up the rugs snug as a bug in a rug, wrapped them up with plastic and tape, and we were even able to put this in our hiking backpack for the plane ride home. He does ship as well, but it was going to cost way too much and take weeks (and I am just in love with La Poste in so many ways right now) so we opted to carry it out.

If you are ever in Fes, do yourself a favor. Buy a rug from this man.

Coin Berbère 67 Talaa Kebira (in the Haddadine quarter of the Fez medina) (212) 35-63-69-46.

Fes

...or Fez, if you must. Yes, it's where the little hats were made. Not so much anymore, but the name stuck.

Back across the middle Atlas to the city of Fes.

It was a beautiful ride, with lots of snow. There's even a European-style ski resort up there, and it's surrounded by an unexpected pine forest.

We were meeting a group of our friends in Fes. Original plans of spending the whole time together in Morocco went awry, so we ended up hanging out mostly in Fes. Which was fine. Fes was a great place.

Like Marrakech, it had a beautiful old médiéval medina, with lots of twisty narrow streets and souks.

It was a bit smaller than Marrakech and I just got an all around better vibe from it.

The ancient city gate.

The souk was easy to navigate. You go down the hill and the stink of the tanneries hit you, and that's where all the leather good can be had. Go up the hill, and you get carpets and food.

And did we ever.

We found a lovely, funky cafe called Clock.

After a long, ravenous lunch I decided that I would probably move in if they let me. Eventually, it was decided that the cooking class that I wanted to take (I try to take one wherever I may roam) would most definitely be in the kitchens here.

Everything we ate so far had been good, but this was a step above.

The staff was as nice as could be as well...

and there was a Camel burger on the menu. It tasted a bit like mutton.

More about the cooking class later.

Outside the grand palace, we found a souk for the locals. It was packed with locals and much more fun that the main souk in the medina. You are expected to haggle here. We had an Arabic speaker in our group (sneaky), two Chinese speakers, and four of us spoke French, and we all spoke English...so in between the 5 of us we could communicate what kind of price the locals were getting, and what kind of price we were willing to commit to. You know you are going to be paying more than the locals. It's not a tourist tax per say, but more of a "you are wealthy enough to travel here, you can damn well afford to pay a couple bucks more for that" tax. Some of the handiwork was astounding. Embroidery on handmade shoes, leather bags and belts. The shoes ended up being bargained for less than $20 US for a pair, and some really nice handbags for about $50. It's a great place to go shopping. The souk ended up spitting us out into the old Jewish Quarter, which is really no longer of anything. We found a synagog Aben Danan, and for about $2, a very old man was happy to show us around. Judaism in North Africa is very slim at this point. This used to be a thriving community all over Morocco, but the only thing he could show us were pictures of cemeteries and ruins of synagogs in different parts of Morocco. Outside, the palace. It was pretty damn opulent.